


The Other Lives of Jonathan Strange

by wtb



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtb/pseuds/wtb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a certain truth in books, and another outside them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Lives of Jonathan Strange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/gifts).



> Happy holidays, dear Betony! ♥

> For a man of his provenance, and being a first son — the only child, in melancholy fact — it was a natural course of affairs for Jonathan Strange to pursue a life in politics. This was not his first choice of career, if indeed he ever had a list arranged by preference, being of an energetic mind, but he found it suited him very well. He knew this, having conversed with eminent men of Shropshire who lauded, before all else, his virtue of not being his father; among other qualities there were his Edinburgh upbringing and his quick wit, but it is generally agreed that Shropshire and Sir Hill could greatly have profited through an Erquistone who was not Mr Laurence Strange. 

— from Segundus, _The Life of Jonathan Strange_ , pub. John Murray, London, 1820, p. 67

***

There were many things to be said in favour of the Parliament. It was a ceaseless stream of fine food and finer drinks, help was always readily at hand — and far more agreeable at that than Jeremy Johns — and there was always something happening in London, even if it was a fire or a robbery. At the same time petitions came in ceaselessly as well, and these Sir Hill (Member of Parliament for those parts of England relevant to Strange, as well as Henry and Miss Woodhope) was eager to pass on to underlings. Jonathan Strange was for his part eager to be one such underling, truly he did and so he assured his Arabella, but what did he know of farmers’ troubles, or miners’ families, or the problems of the Welsh? He had plenty of understanding for gamblers’ misfortunes but such cases faltered long before they reached Sir Hill, and while he was certain he could offer fair advice to young men in search of wives, or good drinking company, he would do better writing for a journal specialising in matters social and domestic.

Next he contemplated those, but then figured those matters should best be left to women. They were, after all, in many ways wiser — surely Arabella would agree?

At Miss Woodhope’s dinner with her family that night Strange’s parliamentary prospects were, unusually, not a subject of discussion; Henry Woodhope was, in fact, forbidden from mentioning him at all.

> Being well travelled, well spoken, and keen of eye, it was natural that Strange would turn towards architecture in his pursuit of a career Miss Woodhope would approve of. (The future Mrs Strange was likewise versed in the arts despite her less grand upbringing, and had herself produced a number of delightful water-colours of Shropshire views and fauna, of which birds had held her particular attention. Those who had purchased the ill-fated volume of Strange’s _History and Practice of English Magic_ saw that Mrs Strange had provided it with illustrations, and that they were of exquisite character and delicacy of spirit.) It was towards this purpose that Strange set his mind upon a grand tour of cities renowned for their architects. 

— from Segundus, _The Life of Jonathan Strange_ , pub. John Murray, London, 1820, p. 69

***

Strange had argued, almost successfully, that the tour was entirely unlike his “endless holidays”, as Arabella had termed the greater part of his life up to the point of their near-betrothal. In this he was correct: there were fewer coffee houses and games of cards, and immeasurably more facades and porticos and atriums and solars and bath-houses and increasingly tedious gardens. But he’d held to his word, sketched some adequately, took notes on others — though he’d lost those and could only relate his impressions in conversation with Miss Woodhope — and forgot the rest. This he’d needed to do, he explained, so that he could clear his mind of mediocrity and focus only on the brilliance. He watched Arabella most intently as he said this, and was warmed as ever by her laughter. 

Things were looking splendid, up to the point where the architect’s work left the architect’s head and had to be measured in the field, made real in stone and stucco, and incredible amounts of mud moved about. Strange had purchased a new hat and boots and those little books prospectors had, and had scribbled in them valiantly but the weather was against him. It helped — or, rather, didn’t — that he’d travelled up to Newcastle, lashed by icy rain, and much as he’d admired Mr Dobson, the eminent architect, and his work which was anything but tedious (and might even had rejected the demands of gravity and reason, though Strange would not have readily admitted this at the time), Strange concluded that if his life was to be spent wading through mud, he didn’t need to walk much further than his house.

Miss Woodhope had no good rebuttal to this last point, though not for lack of trying.

> Destitute poets had proven more difficult to employ than Strange had hoped, but he would not be defeated in his quest towards a patronage of spirit and intellect. He chanced one day upon a notice placed in the local paper, most likely by another fellow who was not so much destitute as unwilling to abandon a cosy life, offering the man’s services as a garden hermit. While the Strange estate was not so grand as to include ornamental gardens — Strange’s father would never had agreed to such frivolous expense — it did have fields that were tended to as well as one encounters out in the country, and might even be made to reveal a copse or cave suitable for a hermitage. 

— from Segundus, _The Life of Jonathan Strange_ , pub. John Murray, London, 1820, p. 70

***

Arabella seemed to ponder the idea, but only repeated it after some contemplation. “A hermit,” she said.

“It wouldn’t last forever,” Strange said. “Hermits can’t be married, for one. Rather defeats the point. But I do believe it would instill in me that gravitas that you desire —”

Arabella made a small cough and pulled her shawl closer. “All I desire is a certain dedication to — well, I imagine there are few things more dedicated than secluding oneself from the world, but —”

Strange rushed to reassure her. “Not entirely! Should you or Henry walk past my... alcove…”

“It’s a cave, Jonathan. You’re proposing to live in a cave.”

He waved it off. “I’d have it fitted. Should you or guests walk past, I’d come out and recite ancient wisdoms. Greece, Rome, even English philosophers. Why not!”

“You would commit to reading all of those? Never mind committing them to memory.”

Strange faltered, but only for a moment. “I’d improvise,” he said, determined. “There’s little point to citing sources back at Henry. He’s using them in sermons, he’ll know them all by heart. I might provide you with a _bon mot_ , or some latest —”

“ _Hermit_ ,” Arabella reminded him. “Keeping up with news defeats the point.”

Strange had done his part in reading up on this career, however. “I could simply look pensive, of course,” he said, affecting a ponderous stance. “I practiced.”

“Well!” Arabella said. “Do that for an hour and I will be most impressed. I shall have a walk, take my midday meal in town... When I am back, I will help you pick out a spot for your alcove. Jonathan,” she said, cupping his face in her hands, “I confess I have had doubts, but I trust that you can do this.”

She nodded at him, eyes wide and intent, and left. Strange considered his position for a moment, enjoyed it for another few, tolerated it for a minute or so and then, having had his fill of enlightenment, abandoned his post to catch her.

Curiously enough, she didn’t mind — but then he’d already had several more ideas ready to present to her, all inspired by the glory of the world around them.

“How about agriculture? Because I happen to know a fellow...”


End file.
